From Point A to Point B, or How Baby Makes Three?
by slimwhistler
Summary: After the events of Telling Jack, just how exactly does the newest little Robinson appear on the scene? Part 4 of the Uncharted Territory series. Chapter 3 NOW UP: "DI Jack and the Shiny New Moniker," in which a certain little Robinson finally arrives!
1. DI Jack and the Element of Surprise

Okay, so first things first, a note on the overall title: I know it's ridiculous, but it rhymes, and once it got stuck in my head it wouldn't leave. :p It's basically a joke on me, since my muse was unwilling/incapable of writing a nice linear narrative from the end of "Telling Jack" to the surprise wedding, through the pregnancy, and the birth of the newest Robinson. Instead, it wanted to hop, skip, and jump around, so I thought I would have Jack's POV hop, skip, and jump around, too. Eventually, though, we will get to point B!

I'm trying something different stylistically, here, so the repetition of certain words and brevity of certain scenes is intentional, in case you were wondering! :) Hopefully it works, for the most part…many thanks to DrinkwaterDrinkwine for the beta and the reassurances that this wasn't nearly as awful as my Prednisone-addled brain convinced me it was. Also thanks to Katinka31and JustMeMusing for so kindly answering a complete stranger's questions all those weeks ago!

Lastly, as usual, characters are the property of Kerry Greenwood and Every Cloud Productions...I'm just having some fun with them No infringement intended!

And now, be surprised along with our beloved DI Jack...please enjoy!

* * *

If there is one thing Jack Robinson knows after two years of loving and learning the Honorable Phryne Fisher, it's not to be surprised when she surprises him. And yet, somehow she still manages to surprise him anyway.

* * *

After her utterly unexpected proposal of marriage, following so closely on the heels of the stupefying news of his impending fatherhood (a pair of shocks Jack suspects it will take him _years_ to recover from), he thinks he should be pretty well inured to surprises for the foreseeable future. Indeed, he's not at all surprised how quickly the wedding comes together following her announcement; once decided, Phryne is always full-steam ahead, bending wills and circumstances in her elegantly attired wake. The marriage would have taken place within the week, with only a champagne toast and perhaps a weekend away to mark it, had not Mrs. Stanley insisted that even a wedding as quiet as the one they insisted on required _some_ sort of celebration. He's not surprised when Phryne hits on the idea of inviting some of the more memorable (albeit non-criminal, of course) individuals they've encountered on their cases to the luncheon, for why not honor the road that got them here, for richer or poorer, for better or worse?

He's not surprised when Phryne insists he stay the night before the ceremony in defiance of the age-old custom, or that they spend the evening nestled together on the sofa, her head tucked on his chest, and listen to Gershwin in companionable silence.

He's not surprised when Mr. Butler knocks on the door while he's dressing (in the new charcoal grey pinstripe he'd requested be rather more well-tailored than usual) and proffers a long, thin box with nothing more than a smile. Nor is he surprised when the tie inside turns out to be an exact match for the dark cherry shade of the blouse she wears under the draping jacket of her cream suit (a note of sartorial insouciance in the face of the morning's solemn ceremony), or, as he awaits her at the foot of the stairs, when her appraising glance over his form is followed by a grin and a gleam in her eye. (In fact he was rather counting on, _hoping_ for that one.)

He's not surprised that his own voice is hoarse as he says, "I will," or that Phryne's is steady and clear as she utters the same, or that Mrs. Stanley sniffs loudly after she does.

* * *

Jack thinks he's still doing pretty well on the surprise front as the celebratory luncheon commences; given how Phryne manages to endear herself to a majority of the people she meets, the small but enthusiastic crowd isn't much of a shock. He's not surprised that Hugh and Dot are still whispering and smiling like newlyweds themselves, even after all these months; or that while Bert's glass of beer stays filled, the man somehow manages to remain sober enough to keep a protective eye on Mrs. Stanley; or that after a few glasses, Cec and Mac join forces at the piano (well, all right, that last one _was_ rather unanticipated, but only because he hadn't actually known the doctor could play.)

He's _certainly_ not surprised to see young Paddy filching nearly half as many pastries as he brings in from the kitchen to serve (the lad had rather astonished him a few weeks earlier, though; while he'd expected the boy's crestfallen face at the news of the wedding, he _hadn't_ expected how quickly he'd shaken it off: " S'awright, Inspector; I reckon Miss Fisher would've had to wait too long for me, anyhow. 'Sides, you ain't bad, for a copper, and you done right by Ned. And I 'spose Miss Fisher can use a copper round the place and all." With that, he'd winked, and gone off to try and cozen scones from Mr. Butler.)

He does a bit of a double-take when he sees Beatrice Mason arrive, affable young Charlie Street in tow, until he remembers the young woman's views on the politeness of accepting invitations. He _is_ a bit surprised when he sees her actually looking pleased for a large portion of the afternoon; even given Beatrice's fondness for Phryne, he's rarely seen her genuinely smile over something that didn't involve her medical studies or beloved books. He supposes that perhaps it has something to do with the three varieties of jam sandwiches Mr. Butler has on hand.

Concetta Strano arriving at the door, however, _does_ floor him. He'd gone to offer her an invitation and explanation in person, just as Phryne had done with Lin Chung (whose series of half-wondering, half-accusatory looks throughout the afternoon does not surprise Jack **at all** , as it happens), and at the time, she'd graciously declined. Seeing her framed in the doorway with a small but genuine smile on her face, her arms full of flowers and Italian pastries, however, is _nothing_ compared to finding her tucked away in a corner of the kitchen with a slightly wilted-looking Phryne in the late afternoon. That they both look so intent rather worries him, frankly, until both women smile brightly upon seeing him, and then Concetta slips out with nothing more than a small smile and a reassuring pat to his shoulder, leaving him to Phryne.

Thankfully, that's not the last surprise of the day, though. _That_ honor involves the boudoir, Phryne, and a rather fetching confection of lace and sea-green silk, a combination that only serves to remind Jack that really, he truly does enjoy surprises…

* * *

Given he's braved the topsy-turvy shocks of impending fatherhood and then marriage, the impudence of young constables calling him "Inspector Fisher, _and_ Concetta and Phryne's mysterious collusion, Jack figures surely now he's ready for anything, even pregnancy with Phryne. He's nearly 40, for goodness' sake; surely he's picked up enough knowledge by now to get him through, even though this is his first time as a responsible party, so to speak?

Well, he learns…

He learns that he has quite a lot left to learn; it's fortunate he's always been a quick study. For instance, he learns to do exactly as he's told (he's known that since he entered the bedroom one morning after suggesting he and Phryne breakfast together and was greeted by the sound of retching, followed by a rather querulous, "Oh, _do_ go down, Jack," from Phryne. At this point Mrs. Collins had hustled him out of the room with a "Not to worry, Inspector," and shut the door firmly in his startled face. Of course he had worried, that first morning, at least; he knew about morning sickness, of course, but not that it could be so violent, or go on for so long, or leave even his indefatigable Phryne looking quite that pale. But his knocking and hovering were subsequently objected to as being singularly unhelpful, so after that he knows it's much better to retreat until called upon.)

Although his first exposure to morning sickness had impressed upon him that there would be plenty of occasions over the next few months where he would be rather superfluous to proceedings, quite likely, he soon learns other ways in which he can be useful. He learns that his long fingers are excellent for massaging her tired, swollen feet, and then that the massaging is appreciated in other areas, once they adjourn to the boudoir. He learns that he can make cheese and pickle sandwiches in complete darkness, after her fifth midnight craving, and that softly quoting Shakespeare at Phryne's swelling belly seems to calm the baby after it's delivered one too many jabs to the kidneys for Phryne's patience.

He learns that discretion is indeed the better part of valor, and that it's far better to change the subject than respond when she laments some new change in her body or yet another favored item of clothing that doesn't fit; that it's best not to show how amused he is when she starts falling asleep **everywhere** (in the parlor before dinner, waiting for him in the Hispano, once even on his desk at the station while he steps out to sort out a cup of tea for her); and that his opinions on the necessity of various infant accoutrements should really be kept to himself (his innocent inquiry as to whether they really had to decide on the perfect pram with months to go yet had earned him a distraught, "Of course it is, Jack!" from Phryne before she stormed out of the room, a sympathetic pat on the hand from Mrs. Stanley before she bustled out after her niece, and the quick appearance of Mr. Butler bearing a fresh cocktail.)

He learns not to tell her that he finds her more alluring every day, because she just rolls her eyes at him. It really is a shame, because to him, coming upon her curled up on the bed in nothing more than her dressing gown, one hand splayed over her ever more rounded belly, the other tucked under a flushed cheek, fast becomes the most beautiful sight in the world. So he settles for showing her as best he can, and isn't at all surprised to find that he's not settling for anything at all.

* * *

Yes, even after all this, Phryne Fisher still surprises him, but Jack Robinson doesn't mind…he really wouldn't have it any other way.

Still, when young Constable Weatherly meets him at the doorway of the station one afternoon, white-faced, and stutters out, "They've taken Miss Fisher straight to the hospital, sir, Mrs. Collins says to come **straight away** ," a full month before he _should_ be receiving any sort of panicked summons, Jack reflects that there are still some surprises he'd much rather do without.

* * *

! We didn't need that final surprise, did we?

Well, while I sort that out, in case you're wondering just who dared to have the audacity to call Jack "Inspector Fisher," or what on _earth_ Phryne and Concetta were whispering about, there should be some short snippets heading your way soon!

This was something of an experiment for me stylistically, and it was quite the personal and creative saga getting it finished over the past few weeks, so feedback would be **so** appreciated! Hugs and stars!


	2. DI Jack and the Flair for the Dramatic

First, thanks **so** much for all of the love for the first chapter of this. I've been recovering from a rough patch of things health-wise, so all the comments and kudos, etc., made me smile. 3

So. All I can say about this chapter is that maybe it served as an alternative outlet to the cry I so desperately need, because it was not intended to remain _quite_ so angsty. Thanks toDrinkwaterDrinkWine for helping make it better, and for being my tireless cheerleader and partner in crime, and to Michael Nyman for composing this ( watch?v=mOM_bCsh7Gw) lovely piece for the "End of the Affair" so I could wallow in the right headspace for this chapter. Remember though, we're only on Chapter 2!

And now, please enjoy "DI Jack and the Flair for the Dramatic," in which baby Robinson demonstrates that the propensity for making a memorable entrance may well be genetic.

* * *

Jack entered the hospital at a run, and didn't stop running until he found the little knot of people who were Phryne's. Dot was sniffling into a distressed Hugh's shoulder, while Cec hovered nearby, holding out a handkerchief and looking anxious. On the other hand, Bert, leaning against the opposite wall, was shifting from foot to foot and looking like he desperately wanted to hit something.

"What in God's name happened?" Jack burst out.

Seeing him, Dot broke into a fresh sob, but still managed to answer. "Oh, Inspector! There was-she just started bleeding, and I didn't know what to do, and Miss Phryne looked so pale and frightened, so I phoned Dr. Macmillan, and she said Miss Phryne ought to be brought straight here, so…" Sniffing loudly, she accepted Cec's handkerchief and blew her nose.

Continuing from where Dot left off, Cec added, "Bert and I had stopped in for tea…we figured we could get her here quicker in the cab than waiting for the ambulance,"

"Never drove so careful in me whole bloody life," Bert rumbled out around his cigarette.

Jack glanced at him sharply. The man sounded rattled, and if Bert was rattled, then—

"Jack! Good, we didn't want to wait much longer." Mac strode up quickly, taking Jack's arm and pulling him slightly to the side.

"What's happened? There's bleeding? Why is she bleeding?" Jack could hear the panic edging his own words, hating that he was blurting out questions like a fool instead of just letting Mac explain, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"We suspect that the placenta's detached from the uterus, at least partially, and that's what's causing the bleeding. It's been heavier than we like to see, and it's not stopping, so we need to operate."

"Operate? But the baby's not due for another month!"

"Right now it's safer to get the baby out, and we need to get that bleeding stopped."

"You can do it, stop the bleeding? You're certain?"

"I'll be assisting Dr. Crewson; he's the best we have. There are newer techniques that are less invasive, and he's made a special study of them." Mac's grip on his arm tightened, and her bright gaze grew more intent. "Jack, right now this is the best chance we have to save both of them, you understand? Phryne's agreed, but she wanted to wait to see you if she could. I can give you a moment, but she mustn't be upset. Can you manage that?"

Jack stared at her blankly. Could he manage? In just a few minutes his entire world had upended, and his mind was reeling, careening from question to worry to anguish and back again. Through the haze of panic, he tried to will himself to nod, because he had to manage, he **had** to, of course he did, but the sudden ringing in his ears made everything seem very far away. Then his gaze fell on Mac's hand on his arm, caught the lurid brightness of a smear of blood on her wrist, and the sudden stab of pure, icy fear in his chest brought him back to himself like a shot.

"Yes. Yes, of course I can."

* * *

God, she looked so bloody _small_ in that bed, despite the swollen belly, and it wasn't right. It just wasn't right. Nor was the sheen of tears in her eyes, or the fear she tried to disguise behind a miserable attempt at a plucky smile. It wasn't right, and it wasn't bloody fair, and for a moment absolute and utter self-hatred pierced Jack's heart for putting her there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was being unreasonable, knew Phryne would argue the point vociferously if ever he voiced it, but he didn't care. He'd blame himself if he damn well wanted to.

"Jack, I'm so sorry," she murmured.

His eyes snapped to hers. "What? Why? There's nothing to be sorry for, Phryne. Nothing."

"For once in my life, all I wanted to do was be completely and utterly ordinary. Just once, Jack, and I couldn't even manage that, and now look!" Though soft, her voice was strained, and desperate in a way he hadn't heard since that night at the observatory after her father disappeared. When a single tear rolled down her cheek, Jack nearly couldn't bear it, but somehow he summoned a smile for her.

Cupping her cheek, he brushed the tear away with his thumb. "This, coming from the woman who huffs whenever I insist on doing anything by the book? At this point, I don't think you could do anything ordinary if you tried, love. Besides, if anyone can sail through extraordinary circumstances like they're nothing more than an afternoon's pleasure cruise, it's you, my peerless Phryne." He paused, moving his hand up to stroke her dark hair . "But there's really nothing so extraordinary here, is there? Just a nice long sleep and then we'll have a baby." He could feel his smile wobbling at the edges, but he was going to keep it on his face if it was the last thing he did, damn it, even if the world went to hell in the meantime.

He must have managed it, because the answering quirk of her lips was tremulous but genuine. "I suppose you're right—it really isn't. It's a silly thing to be glad about, but I am. Bless you, Jack…and to think that I once called you my unsung hero…"

"Jack." In the doorway, Mac jerked her chin towards the hall. "It's time."

"That's my cue, I suppose." He kissed her hand. "Now, it may be time for your solo, but this _pas de deux_ ends with a duet, remember?"

"Don't you mean a trio, Jack?"

"Quite right. And I'll be waiting for both of you right where you left me, waiting for my entrance, so just make sure you turn up on time, all right?"

"Of course you will, my stalwart Jack." Her hand still clasped in his, she squeezed tight, and after one last, desperate glance, he retreated, crossing to Mac before his calm façade crumbled completely away.

Outside, Mac eyed him searchingly. "Is she all right?"

Jack blew out a short, incredulous breath. "Yes, she's all right." He ran a hand over his face before asking, "How long?"

"For Phryne? An hour, perhaps less, assuming there are no complications. There might well be, you know, Jack. More radical surgery is sometimes necessary. "

"Look, just get her through this, all right? Just…please, Mac." For a moment, his expression was utterly beseeching, and then his face hardened as he swore fiercely, "If something happens to her I will never forgive myself, ever, so anything else…just make sure you save her." Unsure he could utter another word without disgracing himself, he wheeled abruptly and stalked down the corridor, fists clenched so tightly that he could feel where each nail bit into his palm.

* * *

Jack left so quickly, he didn't see Phryne grab Mac's sleeve, and it was probably very fortunate he was halfway down the hallway before she spoke, for if he had actually heard their conversation, he might very well have succumbed to the tears he'd worked so hard to keep at bay.

"Mac. Mac, listen. Jack, he mustn't be alone, so you must at least save the baby, all right?" Phryne said urgently.

"Good God, if the two of you get any more Shakespearean…" Mac muttered. "Listen to me, Phryne, I have no intention of losing either you or the baby. Not if I have to drag you kicking and screaming from the pearly gates myself."

"You sound so sure it would be the pearly gates you'd be dragging me from."

"Yes, I bloody well am, and you damn well know it," Mac retorted somewhat hoarsely. "More importantly, I'm absolutely sure that any talk of gates is entirely irrelevant to this situation. Apart from anything else, your Jack Robinson would never forgive either of us, and I for one have no intention of earning his eternal enmity."

"He really wouldn't forgive us, would he?" agreed Phryne, a hint of relief in her tone.

"And just you remember that, Phryne Fisher. Now, I'll get the orderly…it's time to get you to theater."

* * *

When Jack thinks of that time spent waiting later, he's never sure how long it actually was or what happened when. He knows at some point he'd removed his jacket, and then his tie, but he had no recollection of what he did with them. Perhaps Cec, who shadowed him a good deal of the time, had collected them, but it was more likely Dot, who had followed him with a worried gaze if not with her feet. No, perhaps Cec had been the one to unbutton his cuffs, when for some reason his own fingers wouldn't quite cooperate. Someone had steered him toward a bench then, and he'd sat down heavily, his head in his hands. He thinks he recalls the sensation of his hair falling over his forehead then, too, so he must have run his hands through it enough to loosen the rigid hold that Phryne so often preferred to muss. Perhaps after that was when Hugh's hand had landed on his shoulder and the lad had started to say something, only to be cut off by a sharp glance from Bert. He does remember when a cigarette entered his field of vision, accompanied only by Bert's steady gaze, and how for a moment he was no longer in a hospital corridor, but in a trench in France after a heavy bombardment, when the only thing that seemed to make any sense, that _might_ make the shaking stop, was sharing a cigarette with the equally lucky blighter next to him. He's fairly certain he smoked the whole pack, almost one after the other, even though he can count the cigarettes he'd smoked in the previous decade on one hand.

He sometimes wonders why he remembers as much as he does, when God knows the only important thing that day was the sight of Mac coming towards him, her hair blazing like a beacon, and his hoping with every fiber of his being that it signaled salvation, rather than the utter devastation that was the only other alternative…

* * *

Okay, so, I **KNOW** , and I'm so sorry, but can I just be really clear upfront and say that I hate tragedies? Absolutely hate 'em, and pretty much refuse to go near them, regardless of their supposed critical merits. Just so you know. ;)

Notes now, mostly on medical things, kind of in order:

\- So according to my research, in 1923 the Victorian Civil Ambulance Service had 6 motor ambulances and three horse-drawn ones, so I figured the risks of waiting for one of those vs. being carefully carried down the stairs and transported to the hospital in the back of a cab were probably about even, in the circumstances I presented? Plus, I also wanted an excuse to get Bert and Cec involved, so…

-From my reading I get the impression that C-sections are kind of a last resort in the case of a placental abruption nowadays, unless they **know** it's very severe or that mother or baby are in absolutely dire distress. But we have many more ways to check that now, and lots of other interventions to try first, whereas in 1930 probably the only choice was to go in surgically once they determined the bleeding wouldn't stop (which apparently it can sometimes)? Oh, also, apparently by 1930 the "modern" horizontal C-section incision should have been fairly common, which is better for you in the long run, so yay for that.

-Kind of connected to that, I know that while I was writing part of me was screeching, "Stop talking and get in the operating room, darn it, because **_BABY_** , and **_placenta_** , and ARGH!" But I imagine that Jack got the message pretty quickly, and they would have had to take time at the hospital to determine what was going on, and that things weren't going to stop, and really, between Jack getting to the hospital and his storming away from Mac, I figure _maybe_ ten minutes have elapsed? Suspension of disbelief may still be required, of course, but I hope things don't seem _too_ implausible. And without all the lovely "conversating" there wouldn't be nearly so many feels, and I think it was kind of therapeutic for me to wallow, actually, so…

-As regards research for Chapter 3, if anyone has any idea what recovery from a C-section would have looked like in 1930, do let me know, because all I can think is that there was probably a heck of a lot of morphine, a much higher risk for infection, and a hospital stay that was certainly longer that two days or so, and then I hit a wall.

So I hope you enjoyed, despite the angstiness, and that you'll forgive me enough to stick around for Chapter 3. Hugs and stars, friends. 3


	3. DI Jack and the Shiny New Moniker

OMG, I finally finished! I don't believe it. For some reason, I think this was the hardest piece I've written so far; it felt like I was slogging through molasses or something at times. I don't quite know why, because I knew exactly where I wanted it to go and what I wanted to include. Perhaps it's because it's such an important piece in the whole series arc… maybe I got intimidated by my own expectations! Regardless, I hope you find it worth the wait!

Thanks to DrinkWaterDrinkWine for her encouragement and patience, and for always letting me babble on about little Robinsons. Also, this chapter is dedicated in particular to everyone on Ao3 and FFN who were kind enough to take the time and offer their knowledge of [historical] recovery from a C-section. I so appreciate it! More of those details will make their way into the next story chronologically, never fear. And extra special thanks to everyone who encouraged me on Tumblr when I was stuck, too!

A couple more story-specific notes before we start: for those of you following the entire series, you'll notice that I have changed the name of Jack's great aunt. I'll explain more in the closing note, I just wanted to preface it here as it does impact an important detail of this story.

Also, just so you know, I'm really not sure whether my handling of the use of morphine (in terms of amount, frequency of dosage under the depicted circumstances, how compos mentis Phryne would be, etc.) is accurate, but I did try. I'm pretty sure Phryne is too lucid during her closing conversation with Jack, but that conversation **needed** to happen, so please, for me, suspend your disbelief for the sake of the story. I'm fairly sure you'll still enjoy it! :)

Oh, and as usual, characters are the property of Kerry Greenwood and Every Cloud Productions. No infringement intended!

And now, without further ado, please enjoy the final chapter of "A to B," "DI Jack and the Shiny New Moniker!"

* * *

As Mac came towards him, Jack tried to will himself to move, or speak, or do anything but stay exactly where he was, frozen. Even when she stood directly in front of him, he could barely bring himself to look at her face, so afraid was he of what he might read in her expression.

"Phryne?" he breathed out.

"It's all right, Jack, she's all right. She made it through just fine, and we managed to stop the bleeding without any further surgery."

The rush of relief at the welcome news was so immense, Jack wasn't altogether certain his knees _hadn't_ in fact turned to jelly. He probably would have slid down the wall to the floor had Cec not suddenly been there with a hand to his elbow and a "Steady on, mate."

"And the baby?" he ventured.

"A girl," Mac replied, smiling softly.

"And she's all right, too?"

"A bit small, but she shrieked like a banshee once we gave her a bit of help, so I think she'll probably be all right, too, yes."

He let out a deep breath then, and finally allowed himself to really look at Mac, at the smile on her face, the relief in her eyes. God, he'd been lucky. They all had.

"Can I see them?" he asked urgently.

"Well, Phryne will be asleep, and hopefully so will the baby, but come on," she said, indicating with a jerk of her head that he should follow.

"Phryne's had a whopping great dose of morphine," Mac continued as they went down the hall, "and we'll probably keep it like that for the next day or two, because it's very important she remain absolutely still, not to mention that she'd be in a tremendous amount of pain otherwise. You shouldn't expect her to wake soon, is what I mean."

"But she _will_ be fine, though?" Jack confirmed as they stopped outside a door.

"Infection is fairly likely in a case like this, so she'll need to be watched carefully, and even if she manages to avoid that the recovery will be long, and you **know** how she'll chafe at that—"

"Mac, just tell me straight out what you're trying to say. Please."

She sighed. "I'm saying she's not _completely_ out of the woods yet, but I'm certainly not betting against her, and neither should you, that's what I'm saying."

"I never do; by now I've learned at least that much." But he nodded at Mac in acknowledgement, and then followed her into the small, dimly lit room. They stopped by the bed first, and once again Jack was assailed by a feeling of _wrongness_ , because not only did Phryne still look small and pale, she was utterly motionless apart from the rise and fall of her chest, and Phryne was a woman meant to be in motion.

Careful not to jostle her, he brushed a hand over her forehead, and then made his way over to the chair in the corner where Mac waited, her arms full of a white bundle.

"Come on then, sit yourself down so you can meet your daughter," Mac instructed.

Jack sat, exhaling sharply, and suddenly, there she was. "My God, she's tiny!"

"Not too terribly, actually, and thank goodness for that! Now, be sure to keep her warm, and if Phryne begins to stir, make sure you let someone know, all right? I'll give you a bit of time alone. I've got to reassure all the others we left waiting out there in any case." After a final, almost fond glance she was gone, and Jack was alone with his family.

Despite what Mac said, his daughter _was_ tiny. Tiny, but utterly perfect. He ghosted a finger over the curve of the baby's cheek, then moving it upwards so he could gently stroke the light brown fuzz of her hair. Perhaps awakened by the sensation, the baby yawned, and the action looked so, well, so _dear_ that Jack could feel tears pricking his eyes. Then his little girl opened her eyes, blinking up at him for the first time, and Jack was lost, caught in an intense wave of love and fear and gratitude.

"Hello there," he said softly. "Well, you're just a little sprite, aren't you, love? You certainly gave all of us a fright, arriving so early. Just like your mum, insisting on going too fast, hmmm? Speed limits are there for a reason, you know. There are lots of other lovely ways to be like Mummy, so you don't need to choose this one, all right?" He paused, considering, as the baby continued to stare up at him. "Actually, I expect she won't want to be called just plain 'Mummy,' now that I think of it; I suppose the two of you will just have to come up with something. Don't worry, though, plain old 'Dad' is just fine for me. In fact," he added, smiling as the baby's eyes closed again, "it's more than fine."

* * *

"Inspector?"

Jack woke with a start to find Prudence Stanley peering down at him. As he came to, he felt a jolt of panic when he realized the baby was no longer in his arms, then relaxed as he saw that she was nestled in Mrs. Stanley's instead. "Mrs. Stanley," he murmured, rolling his shoulders to try and ease the strain, "I'm sorry, I must have drifted off. I thought…you were on holiday, weren't you?"

"I caught the first train after Mrs. Collins telephoned, naturally," she sniffed, but the affront in her tone was belied by the concern in her gaze. The baby made a soft sound, and she looked down. "So, this is my great niece, then. Does she have a name yet?"

"Not quite yet, not for certain," Jack answered with a pang. "Phryne wanted to wait to…meet her, I suppose, before we decided."

"How very like Phryne," Mrs. Stanley said indulgently, smiling rather besottedly at the child in her arms. The look she next leveled at him, however, was resolute. "Now, you should go home and get some rest, young man."

"Oh, I couldn't," he protested.

"I've spoken to Dr. MacMillan, and she said you've been here since yesterday. That simply won't do; you'll do neither of them any good if you exhaust yourself, you know. Now, Cecil and Albert will take you home, and I'm sure Mr. Butler has outdone himself preparing a good meal."

"But…the baby…one of the other mothers has been feeding her, she's due another soon, and Phryne, what if she wakes, she's not supposed to yet, but…"

"Inspector, do you imagine anyone shall move me from this room until you return?" she asked pointedly.

"No, no I suppose not," he admitted. Jack doubted that even God himself could budge an implacable Prudence Stanley. Usually he found that somewhat irritating, if also rather admirable, but just now it was immensely reassuring. Yes, he could trust his family to her.

Seeing him waver, Mrs. Stanley took action. "Cecil has your things," she said, nodding to the two men in the doorway. "Albert, you hold the baby while I help the inspector on with his coat."

"Who, me?" Bert sputtered, looking dumbfounded. "Nah, I can't—" But his protests cut off as she simply deposited the baby in his arms and went to collect Jack's things from Cec.

"Blimey," breathed Bert, looking transfixed, "I ain't never seen one so small."

"Oh yeah? Just how many babies you seen, Bert?" Cec chortled softly.

Bert looked as though he'd dearly like to thump his friend hard on the shoulder, but as his arms were full of the baby he settled for giving him a dirty look. "She's got a bonzer grip though, look," he continued, undaunted. "Dead strong, this one."

As Bert removed his finger from her grip the baby began to fuss, and Cec nipped her into his arms with the ease of the experienced uncle he was. "There now, lovey," he crooned, "your Uncle Cec's got you now, it's all right. We'll just have to teach old Bert a few things, won't we?"

Watching the two red raggers dote on his daughter, Jack wondered fleetingly whether he might still be asleep somehow, because while he wasn't overly surprised by Cec, the sight of Bert enraptured by a baby struck him as being so improbable that he scarcely believed his own eyes.

Beside him, Mrs. Stanley cleared her throat. "Gentlemen, remember you've got a tired father to get home, if you can bear to tear yourself away, that is," she finished dryly.

"Right," said Bert, as Cec brought the baby back to her aunt, "let's get you home then, mate. Or d'you want the pub first?" he asked as he steered Jack out the door.

"No, just home, I think," Jack replied, squinting in the brighter lights of the corridor. He turned back worriedly as the baby began to wail in earnest, only to be propelled inexorably forward by Cec and Bert.

"Don't worry, Inspector," Cec said kindly, patting him on the shoulder. "I reckon there's no safer hands for her than Mrs. Stanley's."

"Cec's right," Bert agreed emphatically. "Watch 'em both like a bloody hawk, she will, and no mistake. You can always count on Mrs. S. Now," he continued, "if you don't need a drink, I do, and if we're not stopping at the pub then I think we'd better hurry and see what Mr. B's got on hand, eh?

"Fair enough," Jack said tiredly. He stopped walking, and the cabbies looked at him inquiringly. "Listen, just…thank you. For everything," he offered simply. Cec smiled gently while Bert gave a small grunt as he nodded sharply, and then the three of them finally made their way towards home.

* * *

After she woke, it took Phryne quite a while to coax her sluggish mind into an awareness of where she was and why she was there. Gradually she remembered _hospital_ and _surgery_ and _baby,_ and the feeling of Jack's thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. In a detached sort of way, she realized she was in pain, quite a lot, perhaps, but as she seemed to be floating far above it she didn't think it mattered much. She turned her head, trying to see in the dimly lit room, and found Mac sitting at a small table in the far corner, her bright hair illuminated in the glow of a desk lamp.

"Mac?"

Mac looked up from the paperwork she had spread on the table and smiled. "Hello there, stranger." Coming towards the bed, she felt Phryne's forehead and then moved to take her pulse. "About time you woke up for a bit."

"The baby?"

"A girl," Mac replied, her lips quirking upwards. "Your inspector's got two of you to plague him now."

"She's all right?"

"See for yourself." Mac went to the cot Phryne could see from the corner of her eye and picked up a small bundle, bringing it over so Phryne could see.

Drowsily, Phryne studied the baby, lifting a hand to trail her fingers across the woolen blanket wrapped around her, trying to make sense of the fact that this tiny person was here and hers. In the end, all she could think of to say was, "She's not nearly so red as I expected."

Snorting softly, Mac laid the baby back in her cot. "Well, it's been a few days, and she didn't come out quite the usual way, you know."

"Such a fuss…something so small…" Phryne trailed off as a sudden wave of tiredness hit.

"She's your daughter, that's for certain," Mac teased gently. Phryne desperately wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn't think she'd manage it quite right at the moment, given that she could barely keep them open.

As Mac began to take her blood pressure, however, a thought occurred to her that made her eyes open wide once more. "Is Jack pleased?" she asked. For some reason, this struck Phryne as a very important thing to know.

"Scared out of his wits, I think, but given that we can hardly get him to put her down, I'd say he's pleased, yes." Seeing Phryne glance searchingly around the room, Mac explained, "I sent him to have a kip on the sofa in my office. Your aunt managed to get him to go home the day before yesterday, but since then we haven't been able to get him to leave."

"Poor Jack," murmured Phryne, wincing as a stab of pain made itself known underneath the haze of morphine.

"It's you who's doing the hard work now," Mac said, her keen gaze missing nothing. "Speaking of which, I believe it's time for another dose."

"But I need to speak to Jack!" Phryne protested weakly.

"Plenty of time for that," Mac reassured her. "Right now, you both need to rest." Forestalling further protest, she added, "I'll make it a smaller dose, all right? You should wake before your Aunt Prudence and her admonishments send Jack home again, or perhaps Dot and her tearful pleas; she's at least gotten him to eat that way. It's really rather fascinating," Mac mused as she prepared the syringe. "If I or Hugh Collins or one of your red raggers tries, he outright refuses, but one suggestion of tears from a woebegone Dot and he's as docile as a lamb. He's going to be putty in that little one's hands, that's for certain. I believe I'll rather enjoy that," she added, stepping back from the bed with a small smile.

As she drifted off, Phryne's last coherent thought was, "I do believe I shall enjoy that, too…"

* * *

When Phryne woke the second time, she came to herself much more quickly. Mac had done as she'd promised, then. Of course, that meant that the pain radiating from her midsection was rather more insistent, but she'd trade that for a mostly-lucid conversation with Jack. Carefully, she turned her head towards the sound of the rumbling whisper coming from the near corner, and then simply stared for a moment. Not only was Jack, her perpetually presentable almost-to-the-point-of-fastidiousness Jack, hopelessly wrinkled and disheveled, but both his shirt and waistcoat were completely unbuttoned, tucked around a bundle that Phryne gathered, after a moment's consideration, could only be the baby. How very odd. "Jack, what on earth?" she murmured.

Jack's head snapped up, his eyes growing wide as he saw her regarding him. "Phryne! You're awake!"

"Just in time, too, I see. What on earth are you doing with that child?"

"Mac suggested it might be a better way to keep her warm, less restrictive than blankets," he explained as he stood and laid the baby back in her cot, covering her carefully. "Since I was just sitting here anyway, I thought I might as well give it a go." He started to button up his shirt, but gave it up as Phryne waved him closer. "I'm so glad to see you, Phryne," he rasped, squeezing her hand.

"And I'm glad to see you, Jack, but oh, you do look awful," she replied, noting the shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks."

"You, on the other hand, look wonderful," said Jack, giving her a lopsided smile.

"Empty flattery's not your style, Inspector," she said, breathing through a sudden flare of pain.

Jack stroked her brow, concern in his eyes, but he didn't fuss. Instead, he continued, "It's not empty flattery, Phryne. You're awake, and _talking_ to me, **teasing** me for God's sake…you're marvelous. Do you know it's been nearly four days since the last time you spoke to me? Four days. I can't remember the last time that happened," he finished, his voice unsteady and his eyes damp.

"I would have thought it would have been rather peaceful for you," she said, an attempt at levity her only defense against tears.

"It's been bloody miserable, is what it's been. Please try not to let it happen again, will you?"

"I'll do my best, Jack," she said, smiling softly and lifting a hand to stroke his rough cheek.

"Good." He cleared his throat. "Mac said you saw the baby?"

"Yes." Seeing his expectant look, she added, "She seems a very satisfactory sort of baby, I suppose."

He chuckled, amused. "Only satisfactory, hmmm? Well, you just haven't met her properly yet. She's lovely."

"Lovely, is she? Look at that. Only four days and you've already succumbed to another woman's charms. I suppose I **had** better meet this paragon properly." She smiled for him, but inside she felt uneasy. What if she looked at her daughter, **really** looked at her, and felt nothing more than the disinterest she usually experienced around infants, or worse, active resentment? Jack would surely notice and be bitterly disappointed; frankly so would she, for Phryne wanted more for her daughter…and for herself.

"Mac said we could prop you up, just a bit, if you wanted to hold her for a few minutes when you woke up."

She was beginning to feel rather tired again, the cottony feeling in her head descending once more, but he looked so hopeful, so boyish and unlike himself with the rumpled, loosened clothing and utterly tousled hair, that she simply _had_ to put aside her weariness and misgivings to grin at him. "All right, Jack," she acquiesced, chuckling as much as her incision would let her, "that sounds wonderful."

Jack smiled back at her, then helped her put a few pillows behind her head and shoulders. "All ready, then?" When she nodded, he went to collect the baby, who let out a soft squawk of displeasure at being disturbed. "Hush now, Sprite, we're just going to see your mum."

" 'Sprite,' Jack?"

"Well, she's small, a bit delicate…it suits her," Jack said, looking somewhat abashed.

"Does it? Let's see, then." Jack laid the baby carefully across her chest, well above her incision. It was a bit awkward, but at least she could finally see her up close. Jack was right; she was rather sprite-like, with the delicate arch of her eyebrows and long eyelashes, the shell-like ears and long fingers. "I do believe she has your lashes, Jack, and your fingers," she mused. Then the baby's eyes opened, fixing her with an unblinking if slightly puzzled-looking stare, and Phryne spoke to her daughter for the first time.

"Well, you've certainly had us all dancing to your tune, haven't you, little one?" she said, stroking a finger down the bridge of the tiny nose. "I don't normally appreciate that, you know, but I suppose we can let it pass, just this once. And it _is_ rather impressive, for four days old, so well done that, I suppose." The baby continued to stare at her, and Phryne began to feel rather disconcerted…it was almost as if the little girl was staring into her soul, learning all her secrets.

Deciding to blame the fancy on the morphine, she looked up at Jack. "Do you think 'Eleanor' suits our little sprite, then? It seems rather a formidable name for someone so tiny."

"Perhaps 'Ellie' for everyday?"

"Hmmm, yes, I rather like that. What about a middle name?" At Jack's surprised look, Phryne waved a dismissive hand. "I know you've got some ideas from your beloved Shakespeare, Jack; I can't possibly come up with anything more appropriate."

"Well, I had considered 'Beatrice'…"

"Not something from 'Midsummer,' given she's your 'Sprite'?"

" 'Eleanor' is fairly close to 'Helena' as it is, and besides, Beatrice was Aunt Nell's favorite. Mine too, come to that."

"Of course." Phryne smiled. "Eleanor Beatrice. Ellie Bea. Yes, I do believe that fits. And was she 'born in a merry hour,' Jack?" she asked, looking down at the baby.

" _No_ ," Jack quoted softly, " _her mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was she born_."

"Ellie Bea, little star. Does that suit you, little one?" she queried the drowsing baby, feeling suddenly drowsy herself. "You know, Jack, 'Ellie Bea' almost sounds like 'Lillaby,' doesn't it, like a little song, a song fit for a sprite?"

Jack regarded them both tenderly, and bent to kiss Phryne's forehead, murmuring something about all of that morphine having finally gone to her head. But for once, Phryne wasn't paying him any mind; she was too absorbed in considering the baby. Ellie Bea. Lillaby. Sprite. Little star. Yes, those all fit. The _baby_ fit. Perhaps she wasn't as entranced with her as Jack was, as besotted as Aunt Prudence and the rest of her family would undoubtedly be, but she **recognized** her, and for the moment, for Phryne Fisher, that was more than enough to make a beginning.

* * *

So, finally, welcome to Miss Eleanor Beatrice Robinson. I hope you enjoyed meeting her as much as I enjoyed dreaming her up. And don't worry, you'll see her again. :)

(A quick note on the name change: so, ever since I first conceived this series, I had intended for my particular little Robinson to have a certain name. Turns out that quite by chance, another writer had exactly the same thought! Great minds, right? Anyway, although everyone concerned is convinced that it was nothing more than a complete coincidence, when it really came down to it I found that I just felt more comfortable changing the name of my little Robinson, particularly as the other one is already so well established and beloved by so many in the fandom. Everyone deserves to be celebrated for their unique contributions, and it's **really** important to me that I not give anyone the impression that I'm not supportive of that sentiment. So there you go 3 . Besides, Eleanor was always in my top three anyway, and it's close enough to the original that I can still use "Lillaby" as an occasional nickname, which is good because it's adorable and I love it and I couldn't bear to give it up, and it sounds exactly like something Phryne might dream up while on morphine and then be mortified about later. Hee.)

If you're interested, the way Jack is holding baby Ellie against his chest anticipates what is now known as "kangaroo care." Basically, it involves skin to skin, chest to chest contact between a baby and her caregiver. This position has a lot of benefits for the baby, particularly if preterm: stabilization of heart rate and breathing, better oxygenation, an increase in sleep time and a decrease in distress. Kangaroo care can often work just as well or better than an incubator, I believe. Now, all of this wasn't formally known until 1979, but you'll notice that Mac only explicitly recommended it as a good way to keep Ellie warm… perhaps she's just [unconsciously] noticed over time that babies held this way tend to thrive? And of course Jack isn't completely bare chested, either, but I think that would've been taking it too far for him, more's the pity. :) I choose to believe that Ellie will reap some of the benefits regardless, which, as there's no NICU to send her off to yet, brings me immense comfort. 3

Also, Jack and Phryne are quoting/paraphrasing from _Much Ado about Nothing_ , Act 2, Scene 1 near the end. (In the scene, Don Pedro, noting Beatrice's wit, states that he must have been "born in a merry hour" and she replies "No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born." It fits really well. :)

Anyway, I so hope this was worth the wait, and worth the angst of part 2 as well! If you have time, I'd be so happy it if you'd let me know; this story has been a labor of love for me in so many ways!

Hugs and stars!


End file.
